


Fortunate Consequences

by NeoMare



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempt at Humor, Crossover, Cunning Petunia, Gen, Good Petunia Dursley, Protective Petunia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:46:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23952517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeoMare/pseuds/NeoMare
Summary: Vernon is dead.That event shattered Petunia's perfect little world. Now she is forced to live a not so ordinary life with her anything but normal new acquaintances.Oh, bugger!
Comments: 41
Kudos: 176
Collections: Best Harry Potter Crossovers





	1. Colliding with Life

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So this is my second attempt at fan fiction. This story is loosely inspired in a prompt I read in Reddit a while ago and wrote for but forgot about it until today.
> 
> Right now I have little time to write, so it will be updated sporadically and at random.
> 
> With everything said, I hope you enjoy it ^.^

Petunia Dursley could only nod dumbly at the news the police officer was delivering.

“Do you understand, ma’am? You have to come with us to recognize the body.” The gruff police officer demanded, not an ounce of sympathy on his tone, only memorized lines he might have delivered dozens of times already

“I have two children at home,” was her robotic answer, not even gracing the rude man with a glance. “I will be there first hour of the day. Good night.”

The man didn’t even bother to respond, only grunted and left. Good. She needed to think what to do now.

With precision that came from practice, she put water in the kettle for some tea. She stayed there, paralyzed, unable to process the situation. The whistling of the kettle forced her back to her body and she calmly made herself a cup of strong black tea. Heavens knew she needed it.

As she drank the warm liquid, numbness gave place to anger. Irrational ire that made her want to stab someone with a butter knife. No, not someone. She wanted to stab Vernon! How dare he leave her all alone with two children to take care of?! She told him he shouldn’t go to the office party to show off his new car, especially because she knew alcohol was the weakness of every Dursley. But had he listened? Of course not!

Nothing will happen, he said. I will be home early, he promised. That bloody wanker! If he wasn’t dead, she would kill him herself!

“Calm down, Petunia. There is no time to waste,” she whispered to herself, taking deep breaths in order to ease her anger.

There was no time to waste.

With silent steps, she walked towards her bedroom and searched for all the documents she needed. House title, under Vernon’s name. The cars' certificate title, one under her name and one under Vernon’s. Life insurance, she was the benefactor. Wait, what?

She scanned the document again and it didn’t change. Since when Vernon had this? No, never mind. She didn’t care in the least since when, only how much money she would get. Would it cover the funeral expenses? She needed to call the company and make an appointment as soon as possible.

Well then. Bank account beneficiary, fortunately her. Marge was going to be hard enough to deal with. That harpy would leave her in the streets if she could!

Now, what to do?

She only had her typing course as qualification and no other kind of higher education. With reluctance, she admitted perfect Lily was right, she should have attended university. But how was she supposed to know this would happen? Petunia carefully planned every step of her life and everything was bloody perfect until now, the day Vernon irresponsibly decided to get himself killed in a car crash! Perhaps it was poetic justice, she admitted, containing her desire to punch the walls.

She and Vernon told Harry his parents died in a drunken car crash when he asked a month or so ago. It was ironic that her husband was the one to die that way. A shiver slithered down her spine when she realized she would have joined Vernon to the afterlife if they got a nanny for the night. With a horrified gasp, Petunia ran towards the toilet and threw up. When her stomach was empty and her muscles ached, she splashed cold water on her face.

What would happen to Dudley then? Marge would never raise a baby so the orphanage was the only option left. Her knees gave out when reality hit her.

If Lily and her husband were still alive, they would have taken Dudley and raised him as their own. Magic notwithstanding. An almost hysteric chuckle left her chest and she could already feel her eyes filling with tears. Even after death, perfect Lily was still better than simple Petunia. Well, she would no longer give her dead sister that satisfaction!

With a wince, Petunia remembered the fight she had with Vernon about placing Harry in the cupboard under the stairs. He definitely disagreed with her decision, but what else could she do? The boy woke up screaming, waking up Dudley in the process. It was logical to move the boy to the room that was furthest away from her Diddykins. It was hard enough to deal with one baby, she couldn’t deal with two. In the end, sleep deprivation won over Vernon’s morals. She should have listened to him.

Tears were streaming down her face.

“Think, Petunia, think. There is no time to waste,” she whispered to herself. There was going to be enough time for regrets and tears later.

What would she do now, that was the question. She could no longer stay in the house. It may be her dream home, but she couldn’t afford paying the expenses by herself. Besides, she kind of hated the bitchy, conniving gossipers she had as neighbours. Being the perfect suburbia mum took too much energy. Moving out was a perfectly reasonable decision.

So, she needed to contact the insurance company first. Then, she would take care of the paperwork that followed Vernon’s demise and maybe look for a lawyer. Finally, she would find a real estate agent and begin her search for a new place. When Petunia saw the grey sky through the windows, she knew it was going to be a very long day.

* * *

With a tired groan, Petunia collapsed on the coach, allowing her sore body to take a well-deserved break. The last weeks were borderline torturous, to say the least.

The day after the incident – as she preferred to call it because it was too painful otherwise – was a nightmare. From taking the kids to the day nursery to going to the morgue, to meeting a dozen leeches who thought she was a brainless blonde who happened to be a young widow. Fortunately, her Evans genes ran strong and her mind was sharp, not to mention the cutthroat nature she inherited from her mother. Thanks to this and her talent to read people, Petunia managed to acquire the services of a particularly ancient barrister who happened to find some sort of amusement in her sordid plans. What a charming gentleman.

In the end, she managed to coerce the forensic doctor in charge of issuing Vernon’s death certificate into something that would benefit her when claiming the insurance money in exchange of not revealing the... compromising position, per se, she found the man in with one of the corpses. Then, she had to deal with the bloodsuckers also known as the insurance company.

Petunia purposefully chose the rush hour of the day in order to present the needed papers. Of course, once you added a few tears here and there and two children watching silently from the sidelines, it was hard for the person to deny her request. Especially when there were so many witnesses around. After all, even wolves had to act like sheep under the judging gaze of the farmer.

Her greatest surprise in the whole process was discovering how much money she now had at her disposal. Vernon never believed on owning anything to anyone, including the bank. Unfortunately, he also had the penchant of saving at least half of his salary. If it wasn’t for her in laws’ generous gifts after the wedding, Petunia would have been forced to live a humbler life. Vernon’s parents gifted them the house as a wedding present, along with one car. After their death, ironically in a car crash, they left their money to their children. Even when the harpy of Marge managed to keep most of the inheritance, the money Vernon got was a nice motivation to begin saving for a bigger house. All in all, her late husband had no debts and a constant income. And once you added the life insurance money...

Now she thanked Vernon’s parsimonious ways because she was left in a surprisingly comfortable position. However, she had few skills aside from her housekeeping knowledge and baking talent so she had to find a way of multiplying the money she had. It was not time to splurge, but to manage her newfound fortune carefully.

If that was not enough good fortune, life must be compensating her for her loss because the good luck didn’t end there. Finding Mister Holmes, the old lawyer, was a blessing. Of that, Petunia held no doubts. The old man was astoundingly effective and had more contacts than anyone had the right to. In a matter of days, almost everything was done. She honestly believed the man was still in the game not because of the pay, but because of the pleasure of making others suffer. In any case, it aligned with her goals so she had no complaints. Besides, he always complimented her baking and even gave her a few ideas on how to start over this stage of her life.

Mister Holmes also managed to contact Petunia with a friend of his, a similarly old woman who was renting the flat above hers. It was far too convenient, suspiciously so. Therefore, she checked the place and met the woman in person. It was clean, the old woman was extremely kind and accommodating, not to mention the place was not bad at all. However, her mother taught her to be suspicious of every act of kindness so Petunia hired another barrister for the paperwork and some kind of inspector to look over the place, just in case. In the end, her efforts were in vain because everything was clean.

However, Mister Holmes seemed pleased about her distrustful nature. Charming man.

“Mum! Mum! Mum!” Dudley yelled, holding his chubby hands up to be lifted and Petunia complied. “I want cakey!”

She closed her eyes when she felt her headache get worse at the noise her son was making. Harry was silently watching from his seat on the rug - he still eyed her with wariness. She tried to smile gently at the boy, only making him look at the floor.

“I will make you both a sandwich and some warm milk, then to bed.”

Petunia ignored Dudley’s complaints, not willing to take out her frustration on her baby. Now that she had to raise two kids alone, perhaps it was time to be stricter because she wouldn’t allow them to act like troglodytes. She mechanically went through the motions of making three sandwiches after placing two cups of milk in the microwave.

“Here you go,” she told the children and lifted them to their respective seats.

Harry began eating without a single word, taking small bites and enjoying the flavour. It made Petunia smile to know that at least one of her kids appreciated her efforts. Dudley simply scowled at the lettuce peeking from the edge of the sandwich and pushed the plate away.

“Don’t wanna! Mum!” Tears began forming in his eyes as Dudley began throwing a tantrum. She didn’t have the heart to forcefully stop him. “I want dad!”

And there was that, Petunia had yet to tell the kids what happened to Vernon. She only said he had to travel and didn’t really know how to handle this situation.

The funeral was small, only a few of Vernon’s friends assisted. Petunia did not bother inviting the neighbours. When she thought the whole affair was over, Marge barged in the cemetery when it was time to lower the coffin and began yelling at her. It was horrible, but not for the reasons one would expect.

That harpy accused her of killing Vernon to inherit his money, going as far as threatening to sue Petunia if she didn’t receive at least half of what was left and many other stupid things. The only thing that really bothered Petunia was Marge’s threat to gain Dudley’s custody and leaving Harry in the street. Then she snapped.

The only thing Petunia could clearly remember is the feeling of the skin of her knuckles breaking when she punched the harpy, knocking her out cold and breaking her nose in the process. Fortunately, she had Mister Holmes on her side, which meant she had justice on her side. Or at least the judge and the police. Details. Now she and her children had a restraining order against Marjorie Dursley, who was conveniently forced to compensate her for attempted aggravated assault. How the old man managed that, Petunia had no idea, but she wouldn’t say no to money.

“I miss dad!” Dudley wailed, fat tears running down his cheeks. Right, she had a son to take care of.

“I miss him too,” Petunia whispered, hugging her son. “Come on, dear, daddy wouldn’t want to see you cry. Look at Harry, he is being such a brave boy.” She smiled at her nephew, who lightened up at the praise and even gave her a diminutive smile in response.

“You no brave!” Dudley yelled as he threw his sandwich to the boy. “Harry has no daddy!”

There was something in Dudley’s tone that finally snapped her infinite maternal patience. It was a mix of pride and gloating, the same tone Petunia’s mother used when she said something she knew would hurt and enjoyed it. That woman would not taint her son and Petunia would rip the pollution from the roots.

“Dudley Evan Dursley,” she said in a calm tone that immediately made her son stop crying, his eyes widened. There were many things she wanted to say, but she wouldn’t until she was calm enough. “Go to your room, you are grounded.”

She watched as Dudley got out of his chair without a word. She would not yell at him, she refused to follow that woman’s example. Petunia frowned when her son stopped walking, looking like a deer caught by headlights, so she turned to see what he was looking at. It was Harry looking at the table. There were silent tears rolling down his cheeks and her heart broke a little more. Why did he had to inherit Lily’s looks? It was so hard to look at him, but she couldn’t leave him in that state.

Petunia gently rocked the boy until he was calm, she cleaned him off and put him to bed. Sleep was eluding her tonight so it was easy to hear the slight sound of small footsteps walking towards Dudley’s room. She waited a few minutes before investigating.

Harry was talking, she could hear his voice from the doorway. Dudley was asking questions. The sob that almost escaped her lips was enough to bring her back to reality. Harry was telling Dudley a fantastic story of how Vernon was now taking care of them from the sky, just like his parents. It was heartbreaking, in a sobering way, to realize how forgiving toddlers were.

That was the day she decided she would love Harry Potter despite of Lily.

* * *

Petunia sat on the ground in an undignified heap, but she had no energy to move. It was finally done!

On a strike of fortune, she casually met a couple who wanted to buy a house in a family friendly neighbourhood. Little Whinging was family friendly, as long as you pretended the neighbours didn’t exist, but the couple didn’t need to know that. In that swift twist of fate, Petunia managed to sell her house at a handsome price, especially when she mentioned all the offers she had. What could she say, mother taught her how to be an excellent liar. Her little lies, along with playing the role of the widow who found it too painful to keep living in the house that brought her oh-so-many memories was enough to convince the small family. The paperwork would be finished in a month at most. All the money of the transaction would be used for a new place once the kids were older.

Now that everything was done, she would finally allow herself to relax. Her body felt too drained and her eyelids were so heavy she was sure she would have fallen asleep if not for the two boys that ran past her towards the door.

“Don’t run in the stairs!”

Adrenaline flushed her body as she followed the giggling children. Harry immediately stopped running when she yelled but Dudley kept on going, if it wasn’t for her sharp reflexes, her clumsy child would have broken something when he tripped in the first step.

“What did I just say?” she asked rhetorically, scowling at her wayward son. “Go with Harry to your room if you want to play.”

“But we’re bored!” Dudley whined, making her sigh. Why couldn’t her son be more like Harry? Obedient and quiet. “Let’s go park, mum!”

“Aunt Petunia is tired, let’s go,” Harry mumbled as he grabbed Dudley’s hand and guided him towards their room.

Then again, she wished Harry was not so obedient and quiet. The boy was still wary of her, but at least he warmed up considerably.

Now that tiredness was forgotten, she went back to work with a sigh.

They officially moved yesterday and it was an exhausting process. The place already had the basic furnishing and the only thing she had to buy was a bunk bed for the kids. She still needed to decorate their new place, but at least they were ready to start over again.

Petunia thought on different businesses, but there was nothing that she really enjoyed doing aside from cooking and baking. What could she say? It was an almost therapeutic hobby, especially when kneading (punching) was involved, so she decided to invest in the stock market and buy some actions in promising companies. However, she needed a hobby unless she wanted stress to consume her alive. Now she understood why Vernon began stress eating when he was ascended.

That is how she decided to start a small bakery. Petunia needed something to do aside from paperwork, and baking didn’t really take that much time once you developed a system. Her other option was still baking as a hobby, but she would literally bake too much to consume and she was not one to waste so at least she could make a little money from that. Besides, she doubted the small kitchen of the flat could handle all the stress baking she would be doing in a near future.

If anything, she only needed to invest a little money to start the bakery. Namely, less than a third of the money the harpy was forced to pay as compensation. Petunia felt the irrational need to gloat that information off in Marge’s face, but she had too much self-control. A shame, really. It would be an amusing experiment.

Mister Holmes, the old barrister, was ecstatic with the news of the bakery. Unnervingly so. He went as far as to gift her two large industrial ovens as a home warming present. While the man seemed harmless enough, Petunia had the feeling he wanted something from her. Well, maybe he wanted a companion in his last years of life and was trying to woo her over. She never imagined becoming a gold digger, but maybe she would consider it once she was stable enough. While she doesn’t have the looks, she certainly has the brains and the charm. In any case, that was something to consider later on, right now, she had important matters to take care of.

First, she would bake a few goods and gift them to the neighbours in a show of good will, casually mentioning her intentions to start a bakery. Tomorrow she would begin painting the shop and would look around for a few display shelves and all the bloody paraphernalia for the kitchen. Maybe she could take the kids to that lovely Italian restaurant for lunch and then to the park before leaving them with Mrs McPhee for the evening.

While Petunia had her doubts about the old woman, mainly because of her accommodating nature, now she felt at ease in her presence. She saw the pictures of Mrs McPhee late husband and adult children. It was no wonder for her to be so eager to rent the flat above hers when the place seemed so lonely with only one person inhabiting it. The best part of the deal is that the old woman loved children and offered herself to look over the kids. All in all, it was a relief. Especially considering that yesterday, when they were leaving Little Whinging for good, there was another person who moved into Privet Drive. An old woman with none of the charm of Mrs McPhee and a dozen ugly cats in tow. She thanked her lucky stars because the Dorsey’s, the family that was moving in the house, were not present to witness that atrocity.

Petunia shook her head in order to concentrate and began organizing the house once again. She eyed the couches with distaste and scowled at the dining table, those would have to go. It would be easy enough to convince Mrs McPhee, or at least she hoped so. When she sold the furniture of her old house, a few beanbags caught her eye. For the perfect suburbia mother, a beanbag was sacrilege, but for a young widow living in the middle of London, who cares what people think? Besides, the beanbags were cheap and comfy. Maybe she would even buy a low table and find ways of making this flat her new home.

* * *

Petunia forced her shoulders to relax and her smile to remain polite while meeting the strange man, who was eyeing the biscuits she gifted him as if they were poison. Just her luck, the last house she visited for the day happened to be the place where the lovely Mrs Hudson lived, along with her strange tenant. At least the man was no wizard and was handsome enough for his rude ways to be partially forgiven.

“I suppose that you have some kind of interest in order to gift me these... treat,” the man muttered, not even looking at her. Petunia wondered if his deep voice would become a high-pitched scream if she kicked his family jewels.

“Of course I do,” she admitted, still smiling. Apparently, that was enough to pike the man’s interest because he finally deemed her worthy enough to look at.

“Let me guess, recently widowed and eager to start over.” Despite of his words, there was only curiosity and some satisfaction on the man’s tone. “What a strange reaction... You don’t seem surprised.”

“Perhaps because I still am mourning my husband and I have yet to remove my wedding ring. I can hardly be surprised, black is a dead giveaway.”

“That is a strange reaction,” the man muttered to himself and began pacing around the room. With certain curiosity, Petunia noted the 221B flat was a much smaller version of her own, if she was a bachelor with no sense of self-preservation, that is. Though she wondered how was that possible when both houses seemed identical from the outside. “You have one son and are taking care of your nephew.”

“Yes, all the neighbours are aware of that,” Petunia answered blandly. For some reason, her reaction seemed to annoy the man.

“Your husband left you in a comfortable position, only then you could have afforded moving so soon. Judging by your hands, you are used to house work, but the way you carry yourself speaks of a privileged upbringing. I am guessing that you married well but your husband happened to be stingy. You care about appearances and are looking for a new husband. That or you are advertising your bakery, am I right?” The man asked, wearing an infuriating smirk that made her fists itch with desire to punch him. Yet, she remained calm. If she had something to thank her bitchy old neighbours for, was for training her phlegmatic facade.

“And am I right to assume that you are the youngest child?” Petunia asked in a saccharine tone. The annoying man’s smirk dropped.

“How did you know?” was asked in a whisper as the man lowered his face to examine her features. He looked torn between confusion and curiosity.

‘Because you are an impolite brat,’ is what she wanted to say but kept for herself. “A mother always knows,” Petunia answered instead.

Fortunately, Mrs Hudson came back. Otherwise, she was not responsible for any kind of physical damage the annoying man was going to suffer. However, instead of bringing some tea, the woman brought two men with her. One of them was awfully familiar.

“Mister Holmes, it’s a surprise to see you here,” she greeted the old man, smiling gently at him.

“Ah, Petunia! So good to see you. I see that you already met my grandson,” the man said gaily, taking a seat on the hideous yellow coach.

“You know each other. Good! I have to go back to the kitchen for the tea. Sherlock, behave,” Mrs Hudson said before leaving the room in a hurry. So that was the rude man’s name.

“May I know the reason why you were planning to attack my brother?” the man holding an umbrella asked, calculating her every move.

“I was just going to acquaint him with a slight love tap. Biscuit?” Petunia kept up her smile as she offered the treats to the newcomers. The rude man named Sherlock was eyeing her with narrowed eyes.

“You have a gift, Petunia,” the old man complimented and she allowed her smile to turn a bit less fake.

“I promise they are not poisoned,” she said, taking one in the process and biting into it. The man holding an umbrella seemed to be torn between amusement and suspicion, yet he still took a biscuit. Maybe because of the not so subtle pinch he received from the old man. Lovely. Weren’t the Holmes a friendly bunch?

“You have family issues-”

“Doesn’t everyone?” she asked, interrupting whatever the rude man was going to say. Strangely, the man with an umbrella seemed to choke. Good, as far as she was concerned, these two Holmes were people the world could do without.

“You never went to university-”

“I married young,” was her swift response. The man with an umbrella tried to cover his laughter with a fake cough. Shame, she was hoping for the man to choke to death. For some reason, the eldest Holmes seemed to be amused by the situation.

“Aha! You had a sister who was better-”

“For goodness sake, Sherlock! I am gone for a few hours and you are harassing our new neighbour!” A man yelled from the doorway, carrying multiple shopping bags with him and glaring at the rude man. “Help me with these and I’ll kill you later. Uhm, hello, my name is John Watson and he is Sherlock Holmes. Sorry about whatever he did, he can be quite rude sometimes.”

“Don’t mention it,” Petunia said to the new comer. The blond man seemed to be the only normal person in the room, barring her, so she liked him already. “Petunia Evans.”

“You brought biscuits?” John asked, then, he proceeded to glare at the Holmes. “I am really sorry about him. Mycroft, why didn’t you control your brother?”

“We just arrived, boy, live a little,” the old man answered, making John flinch.

“I didn’t see you there, sorry Mister Holmes.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Call me Tom already, son.”

“This is all nice and dandy, but I have to leave,” Petunia said, not having the energy to put up with the household’s craziness.

“Oh my goodness,” John hissed, looking apologetic. “I’m so sorry, we are making you uncomfortable. Um, do you-”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but I really have to leave. I have two children waiting at home.”

“Oh, well then. I would like to visit you and try to make up for, you know,” John muttered, pointing at a grumbling Sherlock that was organizing the food in the pantry.

“We can have tea at my house,” Petunia conceded, especially because the man was the only sane person in the house, sans Mrs Hudson. “Good night, John, Mister Holmes.”

With that farewell, she left without looking back. The day was tiresome enough without meeting those strange persons. In any case, she still liked her new place, even if she had lunatics as neighbours and an insane barrister as an acquaintance. After all, life could be worse.

* * *

Mycroft watched as the strange woman left the flat in unhurried steps. How curious. He was not even allowed to drown on his musings when he heard his brother’s yelp, courtesy of Doctor Watson inflicting some sort of physical damage, no doubt.

“Why were you so rude to her?! She even brought us biscuits, Sherlock. Fresh, poison and human remains free biscuits! Do you know how long has it been since I had one of those?”

Mycroft tuned out the scolding Doctor Watson was giving his baby brother. He may be the Government, but everyone knew that once the Doctor began ranting, he should be left alone with the victim unless you wanted to be on the receiving end.

“What do you think about her?” his grandfather asked, confirming his suspicions.

“So you are planning what I think you are planning?”

“Ha, as if you could read me, boy. You are fifty years too young to even begin trying.”

He only gave a non-committal grunt in response. Grandpa was planning something and, if life taught him anything, was to be wary of a Holmes’ machinations. However, Mycroft was unable to tear his gaze from the treat on his hand. His mouth was watering at the sight. In the end, his love for food triumphed over his self-control and he took a bite.

“Good, aren’t they?”

Good? Only good?! What a blasphemy! These were the best biscuits he ever tried in his thirty-two years of life. They were the gift of gods to simple mortals. He felt as if the secrets of the universe were revealed to him. After this, no other biscuit would compare! If that woman, Petunia, was able to bake this, who knew what other wonders she could make.

“I like her,” Mycroft muttered after a moment, taking the time to compose himself.

Even if Petunia Evans didn’t have the baking skills of a god, then he would have liked her by the way on which she dealt with his baby brother. Until the moment, he never met a woman who was able to deal with the Holmes aside from Mummy.

Mycroft was curious about what the future would bring.


	2. Developments. Oh, Bugger!

“And all done!”

Petunia couldn’t stop the large smile from spreading her lips. Her bakery was finally ready to open. Good thing too because her poor kitchen was filled to the brim with pastries, though she guessed the neighbours were thankful. As were the orphanages she visited, the geriatric, and the homeless man near the station that always helped her with her bags. She was stressed out, okay?

The last month was so hard. Sleep deprivation turned into the norm, along with constant soreness and stress. The life of a widow was not as glamorous as people imagined, especially when you had children to take care of. Now, she was forced to work and not in the house!

Thank goodness, she was always good with numbers, now she only needed to take that a step further by calculating the stock market. A homemaker was good with money, especially if you had a stingy partner but enjoyed living in opulence. Besides, she was Vernon’s unofficial assistant so she was familiar with paperwork. That did not mean she enjoyed it.

Her investments were not even babies yet, it would take time to begin earning money. It was okay, she had more than enough funds to raise her boys and she wouldn't need more until they were a bit older.

Despite of all the hardships, however, her hard work paid off. And yes, she was proud of herself.

“I think we should head to bed early because tomorrow this place will be filled to the brim,” John commented, smiling kindly at her.

“I hope so.” And she really did. Last night Petunia stressed baked so many spice bread loaves she feared they would go to waste.

“The neighbours have been pestering you for the last weeks, you will be lucky if there still is something to sell after they come.”

Petunia couldn’t stop the hearty chuckle from leaving her chest, but she was too tired to care about appearances today. Or for the next month.

“I would offer you dinner, but I don’t think I’ll be up for long,” she told the man. If she looked as dishevelled as John did, then it was obvious she needed a bath, some food, and a good night sleep.

The whole day was dedicated to finish touching up the shop turned bakery. The place was surprisingly big, but it was not designed to be a kitchen. Fortunately, Mrs McPhee decided an extra kitchen would harm no one and took care of the remodelling. Petunia was torn between feeling guilty and pleased, her conniving nature clashing fiercely with the genuine affection she had for the old woman. Petunia was not even allowed to pay the landlady for the remodelling and the old woman kept helping Petunia wherever possible. In the end, she decided to give up and pay back in goods and kindness, whether Mrs McPhee liked it or not.

“All the flour sacks are in their places,” the annoying man announced between pants. His cheeks were red and sweat pearled his forehead, Petunia had to contain the desire to laugh at his expense.

“Thank you for the help, Sherlock,” she said instead. The sharp glare the man directed her was enough to convince Petunia he knew what she was thinking about. She smiled in return.

“It was the least we could do after, um, well, the day you met,” John finished lamely, looking embarrassed for some reason.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Tea tomorrow, same hour?”

“Of course,” was her swift response. After all, she had a tradition to maintain with her fellow blond.

“I am guessing that, considering the fact I am being ignored, that I am no longer needed,” Sherlock managed to say in an even tone, if only he could hide his pout, it would be more believable.

“I’ll deal with him, see you tomorrow!” John said and left, hot on the heels of the whimsical man.

Petunia took another moment to appreciate the first fruits of her efforts. She felt proud and, overall, accomplished. She would make this work.

* * *

When one began thinking about it, it is somewhat vexing, not to mention frightening, to notice how fast time goes by. You simply wake up one day and realize you are no longer as young as you used to be. In spite of this, Petunia found pleasure in her new life. Six months ago, she would never imagined herself raising two kids with the sweat of her forehead and, five years ago, her twenty-year-old self would have a heart attack at the notion. She chuckled softly when she remembered how superficial she was not so long ago. Today, she could proudly declare she was happy with her life.

However, that did not mean everything was perfect. Petunia still missed Vernon, terribly so. The man was so kind to her, always offering a safe haven. It was hard to live without the stability her late partner provided, but she was learning. Besides, her two kids helped her with the pain.

Dudley was a sweet boy, always trying to help in the house and the bakery. But, as every toddler, he ended up making a mess. It was endearing, especially because he cleaned after himself. Harry, on the other hand, tended to be quiet. Not the wary silence that characterized him before, he simply liked to listen. It suited perfectly with Dudley’s tendency to talk your ears off.

It was hard for the boys to get along in the beginning, especially considering Dudley followed her example and treated Harry with no respect. In spite of this, her nephew never complained. He always surrendered his toys and trinkets without a fuss. Fortunately, Dudley got his father’s heart and stopped teasing Harry the first time he made him cry. Of course, it also happened to be the first time Petunia punished Dudley.

It was not pleasant, she didn’t want to be like her mother, but it was necessary. Looking back, she realized that event marked a before and after in her son’s life. It was good for Dudley to know there were consequences for his actions and for Harry to know he deserved to be respected, even if neither of them really understood the meaning of her words, at least they had a notion of what she meant and that was enough.

The chime of the opening door broke her musings and she looked to the familiar figure entering her bakery. It was no surprise to see the man here, after all, he came in every morning since the day the bakery opened. Mycroft Holmes, the strange man with no willpower against baked treats. Instead of greeting him, however, Petunia smiled at the man’s assistant. A beauty named Anthea, who happened to share her love for personal pampering.

“Oh my goodness, don’t tell me you have cinnamon rolls,” Anthea almost whined, prowling towards the counter and glaring at the treats.

“I guess the sugar free diet will have to wait another day,” Petunia teased the woman while plating the treat. She simply handed the woman the small pitcher of icing and bitter chocolate.

“It’s your fault,” Anthea mumbled, eyeing the icing pitcher. With a sigh, she gave in and drowned the poor pastry.

Petunia was not surprised, it was a common occurrence. She looked at the front and noticed Mycroft was looking at the bread display with a critical eye, also a common occurrence. In the end, the man would buy three loaves of the bread of the day, along with a box of biscuits, and eat a piece of cake at one of the tables while mourning his diet. This happened every single day.

“I will say this again, you need to hire someone,” Anthea said, scowling slightly. Petunia had the suspicion the woman was scowling at the bags under her eyes.

“I’m not sure, this was meant to be a hobby.”

“Petunia, dear, this bakery isn’t a hobby. You are literally sold out before lunchtime. You work all the day preparing the things for the next morning, then you wake up before dawn to bake everything. I don’t even know where do you get time to be with your kids and take care of your other job. You need to rest, woman.”

“It really isn’t hard.” It was the truth.

Yes, she admitted it could be easier, but everything was perfect for now. Harry and Dudley helped her in the evenings, which would only end up being a hindrance if not for a little detail. Her sweet and naive boy began making “accidental” magic in order to help her around. In the beginning, there were only suspiciously light trays and conveniently placed ingredients. Then, it gently evolved to ingredients mixing themselves and dough separating into perfect portions. What could she say? Harry was a clever boy.

The problem with that display is things complicating in more ways than one. The reintroduction to magic was so gradual that Petunia barely noticed it until it became blatantly obvious. She was quite proud to say she only had a short breakdown in the bathroom and took things in stride afterwards. Magic did facilitate her work. However, that was only the beginning.

One day, Mrs McPhee entered the kitchen without knocking, as she usually did, and was welcomed by the sight of levitating ingredients and autonomous mixing spoons. Strangely, that was not the surprise of the day. The lovely landlady revealing herself as a witch was. If Petunia hadn’t gone through so much already, she might have either a heart attack or a psychotic breakdown.

In any case, the old woman was far too giving for her own good, always helping without asking for anything in return so it was impossible, not to mention hypocritical, to hate her for her magic. All in all, that revelation only served to turn Mrs McPhee into a member of her strange and small family.

Besides, having two magicals freely using their talent to help in the kitchen was better than having a dozen helping hands. Though Petunia might give in one day and find someone to help her in the mornings with the human stampede that flooded the bakery.

For a time, everything was perfect. But as the saying goes, everything has an end.

It was a normal morning in the kitchen, trays flying to and fro the ovens, bread levitating towards the display shelves, scones cooperating with different fillings, and all that stuff while she decorated the cakes and pies. Petunia was having a calm conversation with Mrs McPhee, or Nanny, as she likes being called, when an owl decided to invade the kitchen. How unsanitary! It was a shame she had to leave a window open in order to allow the scent of fresh bread to flood the neighbourhood.

Sadly, the bird was the least of her concerns.

That stupid newspaper unceremoniously slapped her with the news of her nephew being hailed as a saviour for defeating some lord of the boulders. Was that enough? Apparently not! Those bloody worms were congratulating some son of a hamster named Oligomers Redbud for writing about the adventures of Harry Potter. Perhaps if those were all the news, Petunia would have only taken legal actions against that scammer, but that was merely the beginning.

Mrs McPhee told her the story of the Potters tragic death. After so many years, Petunia finally learnt how Lily and her husband died. If she could strangle Dumbledore, she would do so with her bare hands for not telling her the whole story!

So, in summary, one of her children was famous in the magical world and there were worms trying to leech of him. As if!

Seeing Dudley and Harry taking care of each other woke up an animalistic instinct long buried. She lost her baby sister to the magical world, she would not lose her nephew to those pillocks! She would make sure of it.

Petunia was many things, a good person was not amongst them. She knew she had no power in the magical world, but she could do things from the shadows. Plans were being crafted and would soon be enacted. She would protect her children, no matter how many lives she had to tear apart in the process. That was a promise.

“Tuney!”

“Hm,” she hummed and focused her gaze. Anthea was eyeing her with a worried frown. “I’m sorry, I spaced out. I want to save a bit and buy one of those fancy coffee machines,” she lied easily, composing a smile.

“You will have to definitely hire a waiter or something then. Honestly, I don’t know how you made this place grow so much in such a short time.”

“Vernon left me in a comfortable position,” she answered easily, “besides, my first clients were the neighbours and the word kind of spread around the neighbourhood.”

“Are you still attacked by famished students?” Anthea asked, smiling a little when she groaned.

“And office workers. The place is full by eight.”

Someone cleared his throat loudly. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have to ask what are the cakes of the day,” Mycroft said, with that strangely clear enunciation of his.

“Well, there is the strawberry shortcake with browned butter frosting,” Petunia answered swiftly, pretending not to notice when his face lit up, just like a child. “I will get you a slice then.” She hid her smirk at his surprised expression. Sometimes, Mycroft was really easy to read.

“Ehm, yes, that won’t be necessary. I am taking the whole cake.”

“Oh, right then.”

Petunia didn’t bother with a box, instead, she went to the kitchen and grabbed one of the plastic cake containers. The man would be back tomorrow, he always was.

“Finish it in three days at most, it has fresh strawberries and they will sour otherwise,” she advised the man, pretending not to notice the slight tint of his cheeks.

“Thank you for the advice. I will also need a box of biscuits,” Mycroft stated, looking at Anthea. The woman simply took out the usual container and handed it.

“The specialty of the day is coffee cream biscuits, but I also made cranberry shortbread ones,” she mentioned the last part as offhandedly as possible, trying not to smile at the memory of the man coming twice in a day and leaving her out of stock.

“Petunia, tomorrow we are having dinner at Angelo’s, want to come?” Anthea asked while she was placing the biscuits in the box. Mycroft choked. “He is debuting a new menu and John invited us.”

“I don’t think I’m included.”

“Mister Holmes doesn’t mind.” Petunia wondered to what Holmes her friend was referring to, but decided to let it pass.

“I don’t mind,” she answered with a bit of trepidation. However, Angelo was a great cook and she envied his tiramisu recipe terribly.

“It’s a date then,” Anthea said, giving her a strange smirk.

Petunia only waved at the pair as they left the bakery. Besides, finding ways of annoying that rude man would more than make up for tolerating his presence for a couple of hours. The chime of the bell caught her attention and she smiled at the man approaching the counter. His zombie like expression made her seriously consider the idea of buying one of those modern machines that made fancy coffee. Then again, she was not entirely sure if she wanted to serve coffee so close to a university. Enough said.

“There is fresh fruit salad but I made steak pie today,” she told the man, who lightened at her words.

“I really love you,” John said with as much emotion as a sleep-deprived man could.

Petunia simply smiled and grabbed a plate, walking towards the heated display cabinet behind and serving a slice. John already had a fork in his hand when she returned and began eating. She simply smiled and went to the kitchen, coming back with a mug of strong black tea.

“Have I said that I love you?”

“Only a hundred times,” she retorted, “I’m guessing you had a rough night.”

“You have no idea,” John agreed, heaving a tired sigh. “Sherlock took me to a crime scene and we lost track of time.”

“You live an exciting life for a college professor.”

“I was a soldier,” the man grumbled, taking a large bite of his food. “Whatever, are you ready to deal with the morning horde?”

“Thank you for reminding me.” Petunia was never ready. “But at least you help me and I only have to feed you in return.”

“...I suddenly feel like I am being taken advantage of,” John frowned at her and she only smiled as response, making him sigh once again. “Angelo is debuting a new menu tomorrow, care to join us for dinner?”

“Sure.” He didn’t need to know she was already invited, it was funnier that way. “Who else is going?”

“Sherlock.” Of course he was, those two were glued to the hip. “I also texted Mycroft’s assistant, but I’m not sure if she gave me her real number this time.”

Ah, it was definitively funnier this way. Anthea tended to lie about everything to everyone except her boss, and John was going through that stage of asking out every woman he considered attractive. She wondered if the man was really so blind not to notice why none of his relationships would work, but Petunia wouldn’t be the one to tell him in hopes he actually managed to find a suitable partner.

They conversed about nothing in particular until the dreaded crowd arrived. After that, there was never really time to talk.

* * *

Petunia eyed her reflexion once more before deciding she was ready for the night. Not that she needed to dress up, but at least she wanted to be presentable. A simple black dress – she was still mourning - and low heels. Though she was not satisfied with her hair. The last time she got a haircut was a month or so before becoming a widow, she was ready to chop it off as soon as possible.

“You so pretty,” Harry said, startling her. Petunia looked at her nephew and smiled.

Of course, he had no idea what beauty really was. After all, Harry was only a toddler. She gave up on being beautiful a long time ago. Maybe if he saw one of Lily’s pictures, he would learn the difference between a beautiful woman and a plain one leaning to the ugly scale. But she was too egoistic, she wouldn’t show Harry a picture of his mother until he asked and would enjoy replacing Lily until then.

“Mum, wanna see telly!” Dudley whined, forcing her to give him ‘the look’. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, dear, but remember not to yell when no one is yelling at you. What is the number one rule?”

“Always polite,” her boys chorused.

“Tomorrow is park day, so sleep early, okay?”

“Don’t worry dear, I will put them to bed at eight,” Mrs McPhee promised, “now shoo! Go and have fun, heavens know you deserve it.”

“I’ll bring something,” Petunia promised, grabbing her purse and coat on her way out.

She took a last look at her boys, who were fascinated by some magical book with moving pictures. It was adorable. At least this way Dudley only missed watching his favourite shows on the telly every once in a while. Personally, she believed it was a shame magic and electricity didn’t mingle.

Mrs McPhee enchanted all the kitchen appliances to work without electricity. Perhaps Petunia should have suspected something when her rent didn’t rise, especially with the bakery expenses. She would blame it all on stress. In any case, she tended to forget that small detail until it was time to dry her hair without a hair drier. Nanny was working on a set of strange symbols that would make the appliance work without electricity. For her hair’s integrity, Petunia hoped that happened soon.

To be honest, Petunia was so desensitized to magic that living in a magical household didn’t even registered in her brain until it was time for visits. John and Anthea, her only guests, had long accepted the small yet convenient oddities as normal occurrences so it really was hard to remember. Being truthful, she didn’t understand why magic and electricity didn’t mix. Nanny tried to explain her, but she got lost between one theory and the other. What she did get from the whole ordeal was that using electricity during a thunderstorm was safer than around magic. Then she got lost again, when Mrs McPhee began explaining the wards around all magical buildings in the muggle world.

As far as she was concerned, that was not knowledge she needed so she wouldn’t make any effort to learn.

Petunia noticed the amount of people waiting to get a table, smiling sympathetically at the person in charge of the reservations, who simply nodded at her and went back to deal with the clients. She pushed open the restaurant’s door and looked for the table. There they were, in the booth by the window, typical Sherlock.

“I guess I am the last to arrive,” she said as greeting, seating beside John.

“The kids were hard to deal with?” John asked, looking sympathetic.

“Not at all, I just had to finish everything for tomorrow.”

“Right. Sunday is park day.”

“We already ordered,” Anthea said, smiling at her.

“So, will you mourn for a year before looking for a new husband?” Sherlock asked. Ah, as polite as always it seems.

“A wife, actually,” Petunia said with a cheery tone. Mycroft chocked.

“Oh my, when are you proposing to me?” Anthea asked playfully, following her game.

“When will you agree to go out with the adorable hedgehog?”

“When the idiotic otter makes a move on him.”

Both women chuckled at their inner joke while the males looked thoroughly confused. Well, not Mycroft. He looked pained.

“...Right then. Petunia, when are you making those pumpkin ginger scones again? I have been craving some for a while now,” John sighed, looking at her with puppy eyes.

“Never,” she stated, daring the horrified man to challenge her decision.

“But... but-”

“That is not logical,” Sherlock said, interrupting whatever weak argument John was trying to compose. “They sold out, it is good for business.”

“I baked enough for two days, Sherlock. Two days! They sold out before ten. I don’t have the patience to deal with the human locusts.” Never again, that day she stressed baked even more than usual because the human pests almost emptied her bakery.

“You are saying that as if it was a bad thing,” Mycroft said, his brows were furrowed in confusion.

“Do you know why I opened the bakery?”

“Petunia stress bakes,” Sherlock said, smirking at his brother. “It is a coping mechanism that makes her-”

“It is healthier than using nicotine patches and less expensive than fixing walls,” Petunia snapped at the annoying man. Seriously, he was quite brilliant but she could do without his tendency to gossip.

“I never said a word,” John defended himself from Sherlock’s accusatory eyes.

“It is really hard to miss the bullet holes,” she said calmly.

“And the nicotine patches?”

“Don’t you have eyes?” she asked instead, looking at Mycroft with a raised eyebrow.

Why did she come again?

The answer arrived a second later in the shape of a waiter, placing the mouth-watering plates in the table. Right, the food and annoying Sherlock. Considering the man was sulking, one of her objectives for the night was fulfilled.

“Bloody hell!” Anthea hissed, glaring at her phone. “You have to be kidding me!”

“What’s wrong?”

“My stupid neighbour managed to burn his apartment and my son is home alone. My other neighbour rescued my baby and they are in the vet. I’m murdering that bastard if something happened to my child.”

Anthea left without looking back, taking Mycroft’s chauffer with her.

“Now I have to cover up whatever crime she decides to commit,” the oldest Holmes complained with a dramatic sigh.

“Find a less criminally inclined assistant,” Sherlock commented.

“When you find a taller friend.”

“I don’t get why I’m always involved,” John muttered with a pained expression.

Petunia only ate her food, enjoying the spectacle. What a better activity than the trade of barely concealed insults and blatant jabs to accompany her fine wine? Her entertainment was cut short when Sherlock looked at his phone and a wide smirk stretched his lips. Oh, bugger. That could only mean one thing.

“Murder!” the annoying man exclaimed triumphantly. She sometimes hated being right.

“Come on! I have papers to grade and I need to wake up early for Petunia to feed me,” John snapped at his friend.

Somehow, Petunia felt a bit used. Then she remembered she used John as a human shield against the locusts that invaded her bakery and her mood lifted.

“It was ruled as natural death but Lestrade has a feeling,” Sherlock said while typing something on his phone, luring John in with the promise of examining a cadaver.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” John asked her, while standing up.

“I was going to ask you to babysit my boys in the evening, Mrs McPhee and I have to go out,” she said apologetically, composing a small smile.

“Sure, I’ll kick Sherlock out for the evening.”

“Wait. What?”

“Come on, let’s go.” John walked out of the restaurant, followed by a frowning Sherlock.

“John, you do know we share a flat and you can’t kick me out, right? John?”

At least she managed to dampen that annoying man’s excitement. Petunia eyed the wine bottle and smiled, more for her.

A man cleared his throat. Right, she now had to deal with the other Holmes. At least this one was tolerable and only a tad insufferable.

“We were left alone,” Mycroft said and Petunia wondered how the man managed to have such a clear enunciation. “You don’t seem bothered.”

“More for me,” was her simple answer.

The only thing her genes blessed her with was her lean constitution. No matter how much she eats, she never gains weight. Quite fortunate when you have a big appetite and little motivation for exercise. She would gladly enjoy the quiet dinner.

“So, uhm, do you like the food?” Mycroft asked in a lame attempt to make small talk.

“I do. I’m still trying to steal Angelo’s recipes,” she confided, not entirely joking.

She went back to her food, but she was no longer feeling so comfortable. The attempt at small talk only managed to make things awkward when Mycroft remained silent. Petunia began weighting the pros and cons of asking a waiter to bag her food, paying her share, and leaving the place.

“I never asked you what you work in.”

While she was not entirely interested in the answer, she did wonder what the man worked in to afford so many luxuries. Her sharp eyes easily recognized his tailored suit and the brand of his watch, not to mention his chauffer and car model. For some reason, Mycroft’s posture relaxed and there was a small smile playing on his lips.

“In the government,” the man stated, looking amused for some strange reason.

“Ah, an obstructionist then.” Mycroft almost choked on his wine and, for a second, Petunia considered the pros and cons of allowing him.

“That is an unfair pejorative,” the man managed to say, composing himself as much as possible. She only raised an eyebrow as response as she chewed her food slowly, her eyes not leaving his. “Right. It may not be so unfair,” he grumbled at last.

“Does lawful criminal fits better?”

“Is your contempt for my profession extended to me?” Mycroft asked, frowning slightly.

“Not at all,” she said with a candid smile, “my contempt for your brother does.”

Mycroft stared at her, speechless.

“I forgot about you and my baby brother’s feud. I don’t understand why an adult is engaging in such a childish behaviour.”

Petunia took a sip of her wine before answering. “Me neither, you should ask him.”

“I meant you,” Mycroft deadpanned.

“Are you aware that your brother is older than I am?”

“You are a mother.”

“So?” Petunia asked, not entirely pleased at the turn of conversation.

Mycroft’s expression changed to one that could almost be considered amusement. “So you have experience dealing with children and my baby brother does tend to be childish every once in a while.”

“Are you implying I should be the better person and stop annoying Sherlock?”

“I thought I was stating it,” Mycroft retorted, mirroring her raised eyebrow.

A genuine smile stretched her lips. It was a long time since she matched wits with someone else than Sherlock.

“And what makes you think I am a good person?”

“You take care of your orphaned nephew,” Mycroft stated and then faltered, his brow furrowed and he began playing with his glass wine.

Petunia simply went back to eating. It was so strange yet invigorating to finally find people who also focused on small details that, at the end of the day, gave you an idea of the greater picture. She would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy those exchanges with Sherlock. The man was insufferable, but so was she. Currently, they were on a race on who would snap first.

The yelling immediately broke her train of thoughts and she focused her gaze on the table nearby. A well-dressed man was yelling at a young waiter. Petunia immediately recognized the teen as the soft-spoken boy who visited her bakery thrice a week to buy chocolate chip cookies. Her maternal instinct immediately woke, without her consent, her body moved.

“Excuse me, is everything alright?” she asked, masking her annoyance with a gentle smile, tucking her hair behind her ear while she looked at the man.

Petunia had to fight the huff that almost left her chest when she noticed where the man’s eyes travelled. While she may not be extremely endowed, she knew how to use clothing to enhance her almost non-existent curves.

“This inept dropped my wine bottle,” the pervert said with an air of haughtiness that made her wonder how high-pitched his screams would be.

“Oh, and here I was thinking about it being a serious problem,” Petunia said in a dismissive tone, still smiling at the man, whose smile fell. “I don’t think a gentleman like you would ever care about a simple wine bottle and a child’s clumsiness. It is below people like us. Oh, my, but if you do mind I will have no trouble in covering the extra expense.”

It was disgusting to butter up brainless morons like this. Unlike the invigorating jabs she shared with Sherlock, these simple ruses almost left a bitter taste on her mouth. She kept her smile in place as the man puffed his chest.

“Of course I don’t mind. You, bring me another bottle of your best wine to share with this fine lady,” the pervert ordered the poor boy.

Petunia only winked at him when he left, her smile turning a bit less fake when she saw his grateful expression.

“I am flattered, but my husband is right there,” she lied, enjoying the way the man’s face fell.

She looked at the pervert’s companions and had to suppress a smirk. The scoundrel was humiliated right before people that appeared to be his co-workers. It would be an invaluable lesson, if the man managed to learn it.

As she walked towards the table, her eyes met Mycroft’s. There was a smirk playing on his lips.

“I have been ascended to husband, I’m honoured,” the man commented and, for the first time, she didn’t find his usual tone annoying.

“You should be.”

“Shouldn’t you take me to dine first?”

“What are we doing then?” Petunia retorted, a full smile on her lips that Mycroft returned.

After that, the night went surprisingly well. She would have never expected Mycroft Holmes to be the kind of person that shared her peculiar sense of humour or for the man to be able to keep up an intellectual conversation. Yes, Sherlock was officially dethroned as the most intelligent man she met.

“I have to go back home,” Petunia said, surprising herself with how disappointed she felt.

“Let me walk you then.”

“It’s two blocks away. Besides, you ignored your phone for hours. Anthea may have just committed first degree murder and you have to erase the proofs,” she decided to add when the man was about to object.

“Right then, I guess we will meet on Monday.”

Petunia only smiled and called the waiter, who brought her takeout bag along with the check. After that, she had yet to assimilate the events.

She looked down to her purse in order to take out her wallet and the next thing she knew is that the waiter was wishing them goodnight. Her lips pursed at the action. While other people may not mind being invited, she did mind, a lot.

“Don’t worry, it can be on you next time.”

For some reason, that phrase made butterflies appear in her stomach.

After that, she absently remembered arriving home only to see her boys and Nanny fast asleep. Petunia followed her nightly routine in automatic mode and only when she was in bed she realized what happened.

She had a date with Mycroft Holmes.

Oh, bugger.


End file.
